Death of Yesterday Read Online Free PDF

Charles suddenly.
    “Be quiet!” ordered Olivia. “The fuzz is just leaving. In other words, Hamish, get lost.”
    “That murder case is not closed,” said Hamish. “I’ll be watching you.”
    “Really? Haven’t you got another murder to investigate?” Olivia grinned at him.
    “When did you get here?” asked Hamish.
    “Yesterday. So if you’re thinking of pinning that one on us, forget it.”
      
    Hamish took his dog and cat up onto the moors above Braikie to give them some exercise. The warmth of the day made him feel
     sleepy. He lay down in the heather and closed his eyes.
    He was just nodding off when his phone rang. When he answered it, Dick’s voice came down the line. “You’re to go to Strathbane.
     Freda Crichton says she won’t talk to anyone but you. Superintendent Daviot says you’ve to report immediately. Blair’s furious.”
      
    The small figure of Freda Crichton was crouched down on her hard chair when Hamish entered the interview room.
    She looked up at Hamish with red-rimmed eyes. “That bully is accusing me of having murdered Morag. He has made several crude
     sexist remarks. I want a lawyer. Why can’t I have a lawyer?”
    “It’s Scotland, not England,” said Hamish. “You can’t have a lawyer unless the police let you have one. But I’ll see what
     I can do. Now, before I start the interview, would you like some coffee?”
    “Tea, please.”
    The door opened and Police Constable Annie Williams came in. “Here to take notes,” she said.
    “Fine. Could you fetch some tea?”
    “Never heard of women’s lib? Get it yourself.”
    “Never heard of seniority?” snapped Hamish. “Me, sergeant, you, copper.”
    He thought Annie was taking liberties because he had once had a one-night stand with her. It might have developed into something
     had not Hamish found out the day after that Annie was married.
    When Annie returned with the tea, and a recording had been set up, Hamish began to ask questions while Annie sat quietly in
     a corner.
    “Look. I am not accusing you of murder,” said Hamish gently. “Nor am I interested in your sexual orientation. Sometimes, in
     order to find out the identity of the murderer, we need to know as much as possible about the character of the murderee. I
     know you were in love with Morag, but try to detach yourself from your feelings and describe her as a disinterested observer.”
    “People thought her snobbish,” said Freda slowly, her brown hands clasped tightly round a mug of tea. “But it was her way
     of coping. She had a terrible inferiority complex. As long as she was looking down on someone, it made her feel better about
     herself.”
    “Would material things mean a lot to her?” asked Hamish.
    “I know she wanted to be rich one day. She talked about it a lot. She said she envied people like pop stars who suddenly found
     themselves very rich, you know, money without responsibility. Not like landowners who have to worry about crops and taxes
     and invasions by New Age Travellers and hearty hikers with their dogs and family.”
    “She didn’t have much chance of it working in a highland clothes factory as a secretary,” said Hamish. “Was she on the lookout
     for a rich man?”
    “I didn’t know she was interested in men,” said Freda. “She—she said I was the love of her life.”
    “Was she acting a part?” asked Hamish. “I mean, it seems as if she was bisexual.”
    “I don’t know.” A tear ran down Freda’s cheek.
    “So she was pregnant. Think! Did she give you any clue as to who the father of the child might be?”
    “Not one. There’s something. I mind—oh, about a week before she disappeared—there was this tourist came through Cnothan in
     a Mercedes Smart Car. Morag said, ‘I’m going to get one of those and we’ll take off to the south of France on holiday.’”
    “Might she have been blackmailing somebody?”
    “I don’t know any more,” wailed Freda. “I thought I knew her through and